


Go For A Walk

by luciole_etoile



Series: roleplay/conversations [3]
Category: Undertale
Genre: Angst, Gen, Papyrus Knows More Than He Lets On, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Sans Needs A Hug, Sans Remembers Resets, Worried Papyrus, Young Papyrus, beware of sudden perspective shifts, roleplay conversation format, straight from the discord server, wowie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciole_etoile/pseuds/luciole_etoile
Summary: Sans goes missing and Papyrus calls him. They eventually have dinner.





	Go For A Walk

bed - 05/12/2017

  
His morning had danced away without a trace, the lingering afternoon a gentle and slow waltz.

A seemingly normal day, was it not?

He relaxed at his worn station near the Ruins’ deteriorated doors, spine bowing forward, the side of his skull rested atop his folded arms. Snow drifted steadily from the crevices of the ceiling, lost without a wind to guide anywhere else, gravity guiding it down in its stead. His station and the trees were blanketed in its cold. The area otherwise remained static, still, and quiet, and dull.

With each passing beat came a thought. Soon, musings.

Should he practice his jokes to pass the time? Should he check in on the others? Would there be another… was Papyrus okay? He knew it was likely, yet the question never failed to arise predominantly amidst the others each day. Hopefully, trouble hadn’t managed to find its way to his brother like it had with himself.

A white cloud escaped past his lazy smile, the sigh dispersing as soon as it appeared. What good did all this thinkin’ do anyway? Cause a skullache and agonizing concern? Hm. That wasn’t even remotely close to banter. For a moment… he allowed his sockets to fall closed.

A series of images flashed through like a broken camera shutter—much too quickly to process. A painful collapse of breath, an invisible scar violently searing across his sternum. Sans was forced to open his sockets, images miraculously stopping. What was that? Why now? Was he becoming the protagonist to some crappy novel bound to be found in the librarby? He shakily clutched at his cranium. Deep breaths, mantras, reminders, distractions. He couldn’t bring himself to close his sockets again—not today, it seemed. That’s okay. He could deal with this again. How long had it been anyway?

He remained there for a minute, then pushed himself to stand and ambled out. A break was what he needed.

Why not a stroll?

* * *

 

[ @nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} tell me if I need to fix anything thaNKs ](edited)

  
nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/12/2017  
((screeches happily))

  
May 13, 2017  
nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/13/2017

  
With a bit of a bounce to his step, Papyrus stomped down the snow-covered path to Sans' station, near the Ruins. Without needing any sort of evidence, Papyrus knew for a fact that Sans was most likely napping or taking a break. Of course, Papyrus would scold his brother for his lax behavior. Humans were very important (and would also be the key to his fame, but he'd let Sans have the fame should he ever want it-- his brother disliked attention--) and would assist in breaking the barrier! If it... ever broke, that is. It was very strong-- six human souls weren't enough to break it.

Shaking his head of the stray thoughts, he returned his focus to his task at hand. Patrolling. Well, he was always very focused on his work! Papyrus didn't like to simply dish out half-hearted attempts at things he did. He put all of his energy and motivation and dedication to the task! Unlike Sans, who... didn't really need to do much to be great.

As he stepped through the snow, Papyrus thought about his brother. Flecks of white floated gently to the ground, powdering his scarf in a cold substance.

Sans was amazing, no doubt. He was smart, funny, and a lot of people liked him! Some would say he had a lot of friends, but-- he really didn't, did he? Not a lot of close friends, but acquaintances. He always managed to keep them at an arm's length, but not so far away that they'd feel awkward seeking him out or talking to him in public. He was a master at people things-- but not all people things, you know?

Papyrus used to feel... kind of small, next to Sans. Everything that Sans did turned out so well--  
because Sans used to put effort into those things. But now, he doesn't, and-- it would frustrate Papyrus. He doesn't really mind so much, seeing as to how exhausted his brother gets every time he closes his eyes--

But he wonders, sometimes.

What happened, in that small time between the years? Where dotty black spots decorated his memory. @bed(edited)

* * *

  
(crap i need to type another response hURK

  
bed - 05/13/2017  
[ did you hecking bypass the character limit, ]

  
nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/13/2017  
(,, y e s ???(edited)

  
bed - 05/13/2017  
[ oh my go d cRIes ]

nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/13/2017  
(hMM M

  
Vuur - 05/13/2017  
(Pfff I hate when that happens)

  
nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/13/2017

* * *

  
Stomping along the snow-covered path to the Ruins, Papyrus passes by Sans’ station and notices how it is vacant. He unleashes a soft sigh of exasperation, unsurprised. He’s been doing this a lot lately- ever since Sans had that one nightmare. Papyrus managed to calm Sans down after his nightmare- it occurred a month ago-- but it seems to still haunt his brother.

What he is still confused about, though, is why his brother hasn't made any attempt to try and talk about it with him. He’s tried to initiate conversation with Sans on his dreams, but Sans never lets him talk about it- rapidly changing the subject or just disappearing on him. Sans once even just walked off without saying an excuse, pushing his chair away after standing, then fleeing to his room. What Papyrus remembered most vividly about his face was his fear.

That ever-present grin- it was dim. The corners were low, seeming more like just a stretch of the features on his face. His eyes were dark, absent of any light. His fingers trembled, the chair making a loud cry on the tile. It made Sans flinch- but the next day, all was normal. Sans was snorting, snickering, popping the usual bad puns and nudging him, winking at him- but there was something that made him seem a bit smaller, a bit more regretful, a bit- lost.

Papyrus knew that Sans cared a lot about him. When it came to times of when they were little, the only memory he could remember the most was a time when he tripped and fell because Sans accidentally pushed him. Sans cried that day, apologizing repeatedly.

  
He kind of knew that Sans regretted it, and was okay with that. A week later, when Sans told him that he wanted to talk with him, bags under his eyes and a weird hunch to his spine that shows up every day now-- he told him that it was okay, that Papyrus didn’t mind. It alleviated some of the weight, and Sans looked okay for the rest of the day-- but soon after, he was back to slouching, back to seeming so tired and haunted.  
@bed

  
His thoughts begin to take a darker turn-- to Papyrus' own dreams, the endless black, the every present light--

He shakes his head of such things and begins to search for Sans, exploring the puzzles. He follows the tiny tracks made in the sand by Sans' slippers-- until they disappear. He sighs, pressing a large, red glove to his face-- and settles his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. It seems he's no longer able to be found now. Whatever-- as long as Sans was home for dinner or lunch, he should be okay-- but he still worries about Sans, as he bustles about in the kitchen of their house. The sun has set, and he's checked on Sans' station a grand total of sixteen times.

He pulls out his phone, leaving his eyes on the boiling pot of noodles, and calls Sans.

"*SANS! WHERE ARE YOU? I AM WORRIED! AND ALSO HUNGRY! THE SPAGHETTI IS BOILING AT THE MOMENT, BUT IT SHOULD BE FINISHED SOON BECAUSE I HAVE MADE THE SAUCE ALREADY. I ALSO REQUIRE ASSISTANCE WITH SETTING THE DINING TABLE." @bed

* * *

bed - 05/13/2017

  
Snowdin wasn’t helping his case. It was too familiar, too lifeless to him, and he couldn’t bring himself to head into town either without facing certain, unmade memories. And Snowdin held one striking memory, again unmade, that he wanted—needed—to avoid. The sights of puzzles couldn’t quell the growing anxiety; it only brought further to the cause. Every individual and thing he knew of could bring something—usually an image playing aside. Sans would then remind himself that it hadn’t happened—it could—yet it hadn’t. It hadn’t happened. He dug his phalanges into his palms until the remnants of those images had been replaced with a minor feeling.

He had to be somewhere else, and there was no other conceivable choice to make in his troubled state but to waste magic. Enough channeled in a blink, and he had focused—visualized to the point he could move around as if he was there. All his senses under the curtained illusion that he was in Waterfall, and nowhere near Snowdin.

And within a crackle, he was. He, in fact was, in Waterfall. Sans had sprawled across his bench, gaze following the scatter of twinkling stones in the ceiling. Those very stones, termed as stars, embedded so to have hope for a future that was both yet to come, and to never lick at the present. In this spot, there were no stretches of cerulean fluorescent hues along the walls. The water was darker, reflective. In the distance, rushing water; abreast the bench, a partly ignored echo flower murmuring a phrase he feigned not to hear.  
Its serenity was comforting; its change was invigorating. He could finally distract himself with the things around him. How many stones were in the ceiling? Was there any other sound than the rush of water? Was there a purpose to all this? And why did the flower’s murmuring grow louder to the point that he could tell, he knew that it was saying—

A recognizable jingle echoed forth, joined by a vibration within the pocket of his tattered hoodie. It elicited Sans to practically leap forward into a sitting position, hurriedly—hands fumbling—yanking out his phone as he blankly stared at the screen.

… Papyrus?  
Shit.

He shook his skull and took the moment, relaxing his nonexistent nerves. Okay. He can’t screw up sounding perfectly fine over the phone, can he? Phone set at the side of his skull, he answered the call.

“… hey paps—“ His voice cracked, so that clearly went well already. “heh—uh—‘s nice to meet you, again…” Sans trailed off softly into peaceful listening, going still. He was at least relieved to know that his brother was, in fact, okay and still around. Yet what kind of brother was he? Papyrus deserved better, didn’t he? He needed a better older brother that wasn’t so lazy… so unmotivated... That wasn’t like him.

Once it seemed as if Papyrus had finished, Sans ended the call with a, “don’t worry, paps. I’ll be there soon.”  
He heaved a sigh, seeing as he had no palpable effort to move. There was no motivation. He couldn’t just stay here forever either, though. Arguments continued on and on; excuses, solutions. Throughout it all, he finally brought himself to stand with the resolve to not worry Papyrus any longer if possible. Not that he can promise that entirely, but he’d at least like to try.

He didn’t bother smoothing down his clothes or brushing the nonexistent dirt off, simply dragging his feet as he walked home instead of using any magic of the sort. His slippers were becoming further scuffed by the coarse ground, and he couldn’t help that his gaze stayed downcast out of his habitual pondering. As much as he’d like to get home earlier, his thoughts needed to be considered.

+++

Sans was doing fine for the most part—he was moving! And then… he reached the section of surrounding trees, a cleared path, and a wind that bothered to usher the snow. It was a subtle change from the norm in this particular area, yet it brought awful pain. He had forced himself to get through it and counted by doubling—again, avoiding thoughts. Why was it… why was it today was far much worse than it had been prior? At least he could get through it, but it was almost as if nothing was going to work this time around.

Despite his unwillingness and unprepared attitude overall, he stood before the door of the household, quietly standing on the porch as if he was being judged. Judged? By who? There was no one else but… himself, to be literal and not. With a quiet turn of the knob, he opened it to a slit, soaking in the brighter, warm atmosphere. Sans entered, closing the door behind him, and looked around to be sure he wasn’t imagining things.

Everything was fine.  
He carefully shrugged off any of the cold that happened to envelope him—at least appreciative of the feeling. Which was weird, because, hey. Skeletons aren’t supposed to feel things without nerves, right? Clearly, the answer to that one was magic. Nevertheless, the sounds and the smell that wafted from the kitchen was a pleasant memory of reality. He cherished it almost as much as he cherished Papyrus’s existence in such a fickle world.

“heyya, bro. ‘s nice to see you.” Sans greeted in his usual, lethargic drawl, a seemingly carefree smile plastered onto his features. He ambled over and began slowly setting the table, making occasional comments that weren’t expecting a response. He set the plates first; “it really smells like something that’s impastable to regretti.” He set the…

the…

Huh? Sans brought himself together after a gap of inactivity, pressing his teeth together. Not all the parts of cutlery needed to be set, right? Might as well avoid that part then. Thankfully, just and only the forks had mattered.

Finally, he simply stood where he was with his back facing Papyrus. “I…” Sans drew out a sigh as he uneasily pressed a palm to his forehead.

“… really missed you,” he managed, sockets lidded heavily with exhaustion. His voice was deliberately quiet—not entirely wanting to be heard if that meant he didn’t have to talk about things.

Quieter. “didn’t mean to stay out uh, that long.”

And even quieter. “sorry if I worried you too much or anything.”

Then, Sans forced a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “but, hey. you're a strong skeleton that makes the greatest of pastas. is it thyme to dish out the ‘eats’ yet, or what?”

That was a horrible try.

* * *

 

@nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm}  
[ look at all the filler text there was no point to that much I just wanted to match lmAO ]

* * *

  
May 14, 2017  
nonsans speaker{G. Wilhelm} - 05/14/2017

  
Papyrus listens closely to all that Sans says, stirring the pot almost absentmindedly. He stares down at the noodles as he does, unminding of the steam rising from the boiling, hot water. It doesn't bother him. Instead, he is more focused on his brother's tone of voice, the sounds of shifting fabric and the plates plus the forks hitting the table. The sound of water is ambiance, background music to him. The large, long wooden spoon he holds in one hand makes slow and gentle sweeping movements around the pot.

The gap of silence bothers him a bit, but Sans eventually continues on. Quieter, and now he knows what is going on. He is sure, absolutely, one-hundred percent certain that he is being haunted by those nightmares.

"...really missed you." --Hits him like a brick, and he flinches minutely. It's almost unnoticeable. But it makes his SOUL pang and he feels a bit guilty for calling Sans over. He sounds so tired-- he needs to rest, Papyrus shouldn't badger him like this, maybe just for one day, they can be happy--

Another quiet response stabs him in the back and he stops stirring, the bubbling growing louder in his skull. "didn't mean to stay out uh, that long." Why does he feel so guilty all of a sudden? Papyrus should still be angry, but he was so worried about Sans and--

"sorry if I worried you too much or anything."

"but, hey. you're a strong skeleton that makes the greatest of pastas. is it thyme to dish out the 'eats' yet, or what?"

Papyrus heaves a loud sigh and lets go of the wooden spoon, releasing his iron hold over it, and turns to look at his brother with no expression on his face. The usual grin was gone.

He takes three small strides toward Sans, looking down at him, his brother only just a foot away. He crouches, and hugs Sans, wrapping his too long arms around Sans' too small self, and thinks about the times when he used to be so tiny and Sans was so tall. "It's okay. I forgive you."(edited)  
His voice is weak, almost as though Papyrus were about to cry. It's a hoarse whisper, a stark contrast to his loud tone.  
And just as soon as the moment begins, it ends. He stands back up, talking in a lower tone than usual, so low that he sounds like he's a normal person. He's grinning again, gloves on his hips and spine proud. It's like the moment never happened, like Sans never left him for over five hours and missed lunch. Like he didn't worry himself sick and--

"The spaghetti should be ready now! Grab a plate, Sans, for Master Chef Papyrus has cooked up a fine meal for the two of us!"

It's almost as though everything is okay. @bed

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my friend; """bed""", who roleplayed sans, while i was the really angsty papyrus.
> 
> and also, what the hell. it's been over a week-- almost two. discontinued,, question mark?


End file.
